


Neither Chick Nor Child

by lucyrne (theungenue)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Bethany and Carver Hawke Live, Circle Mage Bethany Hawke, Complete, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Parental Varric Tethras, Pining, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Prompt Fill, Second Chances, Single Parents, Slow Build, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25698772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theungenue/pseuds/lucyrne
Summary: Varric Tethras doesn’t know jack shit about babies, but even an eternal bachelor like him is willing to learn for Bethany Hawke. However, catching feelings for Sunshine is not supposed to be part of the deal.
Relationships: Bethany Hawke/Varric Tethras
Comments: 42
Kudos: 34
Collections: Dragon Age Prompt Exchange





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> [The original prompt](https://dapromptexchange.tumblr.com/post/182026324469/bethany-ends-up-pregnant-after-an-ill-advised) that spawned this fic: "Bethany ends up pregnant after an ill advised romance with a Templar. The father leaves Kirkwall and Bethany realises she has to do this without him. Surprisingly, it’s Varric who steps up and promises to help her all he can as he doesn’t want her to go through this alone."
> 
> Anon prompter, if you ever see this, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric returns to Kirkwall and checks in on an old friend.

Varric ambled up the Hawke estate’s front steps, a wine bottle grasped in one hand and a box of cookies from the market tucked in his pocket. The usual gifts for catching up with an old friend after a long time apart. However, unlike Varric’s other ports of call, this particular friend had a story more life-changing than fighting demons alongside the Inquisition—a story he still had trouble believing.

He only knocked twice before Bethany Hawke threw open the door. “Varric! It’s so good to see you!” She swept him into a tight hug. “I’ve been looking forward to this ever since Garrett wrote you’d be coming. You need to tell me everything about the Inquisitor, Skyhold, all of your travels! I’m so, _so_ envious that you got to see the Winter Palace—”

Varric wrapped his arms around her with a chuckle. “Sunshine, slow down! I’ll tell all, I promise. And since when did your hugs get so pulverizing? I thought Carver was the muscly twin.”

Bethany’s laughter was clear and melodic, like wind chimes dancing in the wind. As they parted, he got a good look at his friend: shoulder-length black hair tucked behind the ears, glittering topaz eyes, a smile that filled anyone who saw it with light and warmth. However, Varric also saw the change in her, the new fullness in her figure, the deep exhaustion hanging from her eyes. Still as sunny and lovely as he remembered, but different.

“The baby’s in the next room,” Bethany said, gesturing for him to come in.

Varric stepped across the threshold, wearing a pleasant smile to hide how sharply he reeled inside. When Hawke had first told him about Bethany’s pregnancy over pints at the Herald’s Rest, Varric damn near choked on his beer. Sunshine was practically a baby herself when they had first met, and now she had a child of her own? It was weird to hear then, and finally meeting the kid in the flesh would be weird now.

Well, Varric had promised Hawke to check in on Sunshine and the baby once he got back to Kirkwall. Might as well make good on his word.

Bethany led him through the foyer. The ancestral Amell mansion no longer looked abandoned, but the film of dust along the bookshelves and skeletal flower pots in every hall suggested that it remained far from its prime. The rooms were cold and dark, illuminated only with natural light filtering through threadbare curtains, and a couple windows were boarded up, their panes of glass shattered during the riots and never replaced. The last few years had been rough on the entire Hawke clan, even their house.

In the parlor, the family mabari lay curled up beside a wooden bassinet, keeping watch while the child’s mother had stepped away. Soft babbling floated up from within the crib. Varric’s stomach lurched like he just heard a dragon’s roar echoing over the Frostbacks. Not only was he moments away from meeting the next generation of Hawkes, but the baby would also be wide awake for the occasion.

Varric didn’t really _get_ babies. They all looked the same, acted the same, and honestly, _smelled_ the same. Whenever a doting parent shoved a sticky, screaming child in his face, he leaned on a few tried and true platitudes to make a quick escape. Usually a quip about the tyke taking after its more handsome parent, followed by a joke that exposure to childlike innocence gave Varric nasty hives. Parents bought it, every time.

As Bethany carefully scooped up the baby, Varric readied those platitudes like crossbow bolts loaded in Bianca’s barrel. Call the baby cute, share a couple highlights from his stint saving the world, get out of dodge. Short, impersonal visits weren’t Varric’s custom, but he was not a child-friendly person, and Sunshine and her kid would be better off with him gone.

“Here she is,” Bethany said, cradling a blanketed bundle in her arms. “My little Alys.” She tilted the bundle so Varric could see the child swaddled within.

He noticed the Hawke family resemblance immediately: thin wisps of dark hair curled around the ears, a sprout of a nose that would one day grow regal and straight, and a smile that could accomplish both great and devious things. When the baby looked up at him, she scrunched her face, and her dark eyes gave a scathing flash as if she wished to say, ‘ _What the fuck are you supposed to be?’_

Varric’s eyebrows lifted; he had never been mean-mugged by an infant before. “That’s a Hawke look if I ever saw one,” he said, one corner of his mouth creeping up into a half-smile. “And cute, just like her mom.” For once, Varric truly meant it.

“She’s so frowny with strangers,” Bethany said, her voice so laden with love that even Varric’s cynical heart melted a little. “I promise she’ll warm to you, once she sees you enough. She’s a bit like Carver, actually. Surly!”

“Stormy.” Varric’s half-smile evolved into a full blown grin. “Like the smallest rain cloud in the sky.”

“Her voice certainly sounds like howling wind when she wants it to.”

As if on cue, Alys let loose a short low-pitched squeal and turned her head towards her mother. Bethany looked harried all of a sudden, searching for a place to sit down, fumbling at the front of her dress with her free hand, and then frantically explaining that Alys needed to nurse. Feeding the baby sometimes took a long time, and if Varric wished to go home she would understand.

The siren song of cheap ale and good times at the Hanged Man beckoned Varric towards the door. He could practically hear the low rumble of a tankard of beer sliding across the counter into his hands, see the warm torchlight casting the shadows of fellow regulars up into the tavern rafters, and feel the foam brushing against his upper lip as he sipped alcohol that wasn’t good, but tasted of home. It was the kind of night Varric had yearned for at Skyhold, a piece of the life he had _fought_ for. Demons, bears, cultists, and even dragons couldn’t keep him away.

An old friend with her scowly baby, though? He could postpone that night for them. Just this once.

“I’ll stay,” Varric told her. “What, do you really think a worldly and cultured dwarf like myself gets squeamish around a mother feeding her kid?”

That said, Varric did find their ensuing situation achingly surreal. A lifetime ago, he and Isabela had taken bets on whether or not Sunshine would accept that offer for a free night at the Blooming Rose, and now here she was popping out her tit all casual-like to feed her infant daughter, because the world changes while one’s back is turned, youngsters grow up and surpass their elders, and time waits for none on its steady march towards death. Everything was so different, Varric got whiplash wondering how and when it all happened.

Bethany sat with the baby on a raggedy loveseat while Varric settled in an armchair. He set the box of cookies down on a nearby table, but didn’t know what to do with the wine. Not the greatest gift for a breastfeeding mother. That something so obvious never occurred to him must mean he was truly out of his depth.

“You’re wondering about her father, aren’t you?” Bethany asked him once Alys was nursing comfortably. “He was a templar stationed here after the rebellion a couple years ago. Long gone, now.” She looked down at her child, resignation creeping into her otherwise tender expression. “Everyone told me seeing him was a mistake. I didn’t listen and, well, everyone was right.”

Some stories didn’t really need telling to figure out the ending, but shit if Varric didn’t wish for a happier one. “Oh, Sunshine—”

“I don’t want any pity,” she blurted, her delicate brows scrunching into a frown. “I don’t want any charity, either. I promised myself long ago that I—that _we_ wouldn’t be a burden to anyone. That we’d stand up and move forward, not wallow in misfortune. I’m still new to the whole mum thing, but I think we’re doing alright so far.”

Varric dropped his gaze to the baby, who looked so peaceful and happy in Bethany’s arms. Too little and innocent to understand the hurt her mother must carry inside. He knew what it was like to grow up without a father, and he was well acquainted with the pain of love slipping through his fingers just as he thought it was in his grasp. He didn’t wish those experiences on anybody, and he hated that Sunshine and her child were living them both.

The world always took the most from the kindest people. Despite all the change Varric had seen, that truth remained eternal.

“Okay. No pity, no charity. What about company?” Varric asked. “The Inquisition is a pretty long story. It’ll take more than a single visit to recount the whole thing.”

Bethany smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

* * *

It did not take long for Varric to show up on Bethany’s doorstep a second time.

Kirkwall’s reconstruction proceeded at an agonizing crawl. Without a real Viscount to lead the charge, it had fallen on the city’s apathetic nobility to fix the buildings, clean the streets, and breathe some life back into the community. Varric counted himself among the most important and wealthy Kirkwallers, so he rounded up some craftsmen he knew for a few of his own repair projects.

The first task on his docket? Replacing the broken windows in various Hightown buildings. That the Hawke estate fell into that category was a random, serendipitous coincidence.

While the sounds of hammering and knocking echoed from the front of the house, Bethany rustled up some tea and snacks while Varric entertained her with more tales of adventure.

“Time magic. I don’t believe it,” Bethany said to Varric after he summarized the whole Redcliffe thing over tea. Alys gurgled quietly in a little cushioned basket, which Bethany rocked occasionally to keep the baby calm.

“Me neither, and I was there,” Varric said. He didn’t really drink tea, but he took a polite sip. _Eugh_. “Adaar said I was imprisoned, crazy, and riddled with red lyrium. That’s the kind of future I don’t want to believe in.”

“I wonder what happened to us in that future,” Bethany wondered, “or in the other futures that could’ve been.”

Varric knew a dangerous line of thinking when he saw one. “The present is too good to worry about what ifs,” he said hastily. “War’s over. World’s demon-free. Kirkwall’s getting its shit together. No better time for a mage and her kid to build a nice life.”

She warmed. “Or for a dwarf to write his next bestseller.”

“Exactly.”

Varric set down his tea on the table and hoped Sunshine would not take offense to how much remained in the cup. He craned his head to look at the baby in the basket. Everyone he had ever met started out like this—small, weak, innocent. A story with a single paragraph of exposition followed by miles of blank parchment, waiting to be filled. The first few years of a person’s life were authored by their parents, and thinking back on his own childhood, that wasn’t always a good thing. Alys ought to be okay, though; her father may be an absent deadbeat, but she hit the literal mother lode with Sunshine.

“Do you want to hold her?” Bethany asked. When Varric froze like a thief caught with his hand in someone’s coat pocket, she continued with a small laugh, “My brothers bickered over who got to hold Alys, but you’ve never even reached for her. Were you waiting for me to offer—?”

“Nnnyyyeah?”

Maker’s hairy _ass,_ Varric had to at least _sound_ like he wanted to hold the baby. Truth was, he didn’t know how. His dwindling family tree hadn’t sprouted a new branch in decades, children rarely attended Merchant’s Guild meetings, and they didn’t frequent the Hanged Man either. Not to mention that Varric was involved in a half a dozen ventures of dubious legality at any given time. A rogue like him just had no business holding babies.

Except that was no longer true. Varric had made it his business, showing up on Bethany’s doorstep, droning on about his stories while she played the diligent listener, accommodating hostess, and doting mother all at once. New windows or no, Varric couldn’t barge in and take advantage of her hospitality like this. He had to do his part to make Sunshine’s life easier, not harder. He had to show interest in her life, too.

He had to hold this baby.

Varric sat up, shaking out his wrists and rolling up his shirt sleeves. “Give her here,” he said, his arms forming an unsure cradle, “I’m ready.” He knew how to cheat at cards, juggle knives, pick locks. He could do this.

Bethany sprang to her feet and scooped Alys up. While passing her daughter to Varric, she leaned close enough for her breath to tickle his neck. A sweet laurel scent wafted over him, and for a brief moment he forgot what he was supposed to be doing.

“Support her head,” she said.

“What’s it gonna do, fall off?”

As the words left Varric’s mouth, he envisioned little Alys’s tiny head rolling off her shoulders and onto the floor. He supported the baby’s head exactly as he was told.

All of a sudden Sunshine withdrew, and Varric held the baby all on his own. He stared down at the kid, a little shocked at how light and small she felt in his arms. Bianca weighed three times as much at least, and he had hauled that thing over desert, swamp, and jungle with little trouble. This baby might as well be made of air.

Alys stared at Varric in return, wearing an adorable scowl. She kicked her feet some, then grew still as she begrudgingly accepted this new seating arrangement.

Varric grinned. “Huh. This isn’t so hard. If you ever need someone to hold her for a spell, I’m your dwarf. I can do this for hours.”

Sunshine laughed, “Careful, Varric. Talk too much and I might take you up on that offer.”

Though he laughed as well, Varric secretly worried. Did Bethany wish she had someone nearby to help her with Alys? Did she feel lonely? He couldn’t fault her if she did, being a single parent in a cavernous house. He couldn’t fault her brothers or their friends for being absent either, because life always pulled people apart at inconvenient times. It was just the way of things. The sad, unfair way of things.

But life wasn’t pulling Varric away anytime soon. Not this time.

“You should take me up on it,” Varric finally said. He gently rocked the baby to and fro, lighting up inside when Bethany started to smile. “You and Alys suit me just fine.”

* * *

The off-putting thing about change was that Varric rarely saw it coming. It crept up, slow and inevitable, like a leaky roof _drip, drip, dripping_ rain into the house. A tiny splash of water became a puddle, then a pond, then a lake. The next thing Varric knew, he was swimming in an ocean of new experiences that would soon drag him under.

Varric dropped by the Hawke estate whenever he was in the neighborhood, and between Merchant’s Guild business and Kirkwall’s reconstruction, he was in the neighborhood a lot. He bought things for them in the market; small knitted socks to keep the baby’s feet warm, fresh bread to save Bethany the trip, some new plants to brighten up the gloomy house.

“I owe Hawke some favors,” Varric claimed when he arrived one morning with a vase of butter-yellow daffodils, because settling a score did not count as charity. It was written in the Merchant’s Guild bylaws and everything. He set the vase down in the foyer right beside a window, where the flower petals soaked in the sunlight.

“I sneeze more gold than these cost, anyway,” he assured Bethany, straightening the vase a little. “It’s fine.”

If Sunshine saw through him, she kept it to herself.

His visits grew longer and more frequent as he became more comfortable picking Alys up and carrying her around. He asked Bethany questions, volunteered to learn the basics. Swaddle the baby? Easy. Putting her down to sleep? Tricky, but doable. Change the baby? Can’t be worse than punching a shambling corpse through its torso and getting a fistful of undead intestines. Trudging through the Fallow Mire’s muck really put everyday shit in perspective.

Rapping on the door with the estate’s rusty knocker risked waking Alys up from her naps (and woe to the fool who interrupted any Hawke’s sleep), so Bethany offered Varric a key to quietly let himself in. She dangled it from her finger on a long chain, allowing the candlelight to glint off the metal and illuminate the flecks of gold in her eyes.

“A key? Quaint,” Varric said, smirking as Bethany pooled the key and chain into his open palm. “Don’t really need one to sneak into someone’s house, but I’ll use yours to be polite.”

Bethany rolled her eyes. “How gallant of you.”

_Drip, drip, drip._

Just as he gradually grew accustomed to the baby, Alys grew used to him. Her annoyed scowls soon melted away into sunny smiles that rivaled her mother’s when he entered her line of sight, and she snuggled into his chest when he held her, perfectly at home. Varric spent hours one night reclining in the Hawke library, making faces at the little girl. He glanced towards Bethany to comment on how much better at baby stuff he had gotten, but quickly shut his mouth.

Bethany had passed out cold on a sofa.

At first, Varric took this as good news—finally, Sunshine would get some shuteye!—but then he realized that if the baby was still awake, someone needed to watch and take care of her until her mother woke back up. The only two candidates for the job were himself and the mabari, and inexperience or no, Varric wouldn’t be the guy who entrusted an infant to a dog _._

Could babies sense fear or weakness? If so, Varric was in deep shit. He scanned the nearby bookshelves. Babies liked being read to, right? That should keep Alys entertained until her mother roused from her nap. He spotted the spine of a familiar, impeccably-written book and slid it off the shelf. Holding the novel open with one hand, Varric read aloud.

“They say coin never sleeps, but anyone who’s walked the patrol of Hightown Market—”

Alys shrieked for seemingly no reason. Varric bounced her up and down to soothe her, and she soon quieted. Miraculously, Bethany remained in a deep slumber.

“Alright, you don’t like that chapter. We’ll skip it.” Varric flipped some pages ahead to the beginning of chapter two. He began to read, keeping a close eye on Alys just in case she objected to this passage too.

“Magistrate Dunwald’s butler had the air of a man who had never risen before dawn in his life…”

* * *

Kirkwall changed, too.

In the pinnacle of Hightown, dozens of laborers busily wheeled chunks of rock and broken statuary down what was once a spectacular staircase. A foreman barked orders as his workmen erected wooden scaffolding that stretched high enough to touch the blazing midday sun. The silhouette of a single flag fluttered in the sea wind, and passerbys regarded it with either complete reverence or thinly veiled distrust.

Varric had heard whispers in the Keep and drunken curses in the tavern, but he did not believe the rumors until he saw proof with his own eyes: Kirkwall would once again have a Chantry.

Bethany Hawke stood at the bottom of the broken stairwell, watching the bustling activity with a disconcerted frown. She wore the baby on her torso using a long cloth wrap that wound over her shoulders and neck. Varric sauntered to her side. Alys noticed his approach immediately and wiggled in her wrap, but Bethany kept her eyes glued to the construction ahead.

“They’re finally rebuilding it,” Bethany said to him. “Maybe the Chantry will do some good this time.”

She crossed one arm over Alys and held her a little tighter. It wasn’t too long ago that children were taken from mage mothers at birth to be raised in Chantry orphanages, groomed to either take the cloth or pick up a sword—assuming the little blighter didn’t inherit their mother’s magic and score a lifetime in captivity. Even a true believer like Bethany must feel cautious when she saw that sunburst reappear near her home.

The Chantry could not control her anymore, but it would take time for Sunshine to believe it. Not much a rogue who wrote books on the side could do about that, though he would be remiss if he didn’t try lightening the mood a little.

“Think of it as one less pile of rubble to trip over,” Varric replied.

She tilted her head to one side in wary agreement. “I suppose it’ll improve the view. When the Chantry blew, Kirkwall ran out of beautiful buildings.”

“Never noticed. I mostly look at its beautiful residents.”

Bethany stared at him with even deeper skepticism than she had at the Chantry. When Varric leaned forward and saucily waggled his eyebrows, she rolled her eyes with a loud scoff. “Oh _please_!”

“What? I’m only speaking the truth.”

“You mean _stretching_ the truth.” Bethany turned on her heel, softly shaking her head. “Really! I’m exhausted and covered in baby spittle.”

Varric followed her as they departed from the soon-to-be Chantry’s gloomy shadow. “‘Exhausted and covered in spittle’ describes most Kirkwallers before breakfast. You pull it off better than the rest of us.”

He looked up at her mid-stride to see how his joke landed, just in time to catch a splash of red on Bethany’s cheeks. Her mouth threatened a smile, and she nibbled her lower lip to keep it hidden. Turning the charm on for Sunshine was far more rewarding now than before the rebellion. If Varric could turn her day around with a flirtatious word, he would happily spin a dozen more.

“And that, Alys,” Bethany said, directing her attention to her child, “is what we adults call ‘flattery.’ You’ll become quite familiar with it, so long as Varric is around.”

Varric piped up once more, “If I keep hanging around you, she’ll be an expert by her first birthday.”

Bethany smacked him on the shoulder, just barely containing yet another smile.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Varric shares more stories from the Inquisition, he becomes closer with both Bethany and Alys.

Several weeks into Varric’s near-daily visits, Bethany told him a story that answered all the questions he had been too afraid to ask.

Alys’ father was Ser Owen Pontival of Nordbotten, heir apparent to a noble house in the Anderfels. A young, adventurous man of deep faith, Ser Owen had volunteered his bow to stamp out the growing rebellion and get Kirkwall’s wayward mages under control.

Until Ser Owen got there and met a beautiful mage he couldn’t keep away from.

“It felt so clandestine at the beginning,” Bethany told Varric, pacing the parlor while he kept an eye on Alys in her basket. Hearing this story while its outcome sucked on her rattle in blissful ignorance right next him was rough, but what he felt listening must be nothing compared to what Sunshine felt retelling it.

“His family would have disowned him if they knew about me,” she continued. “But our relationship being so forbidden made it more _intense_. Thinking of all the lengths we went just to meet, it’s so silly and stupid...”

Varric interjected, “You were in love and wanted to be together, so you did everything in your power to make it happen. That’s not stupid.” Fearing he had exposed a little too much of himself, he folded his hands in his lap and added, “Interesting though that this guy used a bow. Got a type, Sunshine?”

Bethany blushed bright red and fiddled with her hair. “I like archers.”

“But only the ones obsessed with Andraste. I suppose I’ll take my muscly arms somewhere they’ll be properly appreciated.”

“No, no, stay!” She flew across the room and sat at his side, placing an urgent hand over his forearm. “It’s nice to finally talk about this with someone who doesn’t pity or judge me. Or _bristle_ , like Carver does.”

“Uh, you know I don’t often stick up for Junior, but if this story is going where I think it’s going, I can see why he might feel angry.”

The story went exactly where Varric thought it would.

Bethany fell pregnant and told the father the happy news. Ser Owen blew his top and denied that it was his, for the only thing worse than an Andrastian templar of gentle birth sleeping with mage was having a child with one. He skipped town the same night to return to Nordbotten, leaving Bethany and the child growing in her belly behind.

Varric clenched one fist tightly enough to crack his knuckles, but he kept his face mostly neutral for Sunshine’s sake. No pity, no judgement, no anger.

“I wish I was there to help,” he finally said.

Bethany tutted, “You were fighting demons and saving the world. I never expected you to abandon the Inquisition for little old me. I’m not sure Owen and I would’ve lasted, anyway. I’ve spent so much of my life hiding. I won’t be someone’s dirty secret.”

As she spoke, absently stroking his forearm, a soft glow spread beneath Varric’s skin. Something akin to pride, but stronger, deeper. Dreamy as this Owen character must’ve been, Sunshine had spent too many years cooped up in a tower to be shunted into the shadows for love. She deserved better things, and the fact that she realized this so quickly when others wasted their lives pining for the impossible was nothing short of astounding. Enviable. And to have a baby on top of it?

Bethany Hawke had become a truly remarkable woman, and Varric felt grateful he was finally present to see it.

* * *

Meanwhile, Varric’s habitual retelling of the Inquisition’s exploits continued apace. Usually he shared a few morsels with Bethany, played with the baby, maybe changed a diaper or two, and then headed home to put everything they had discussed to paper. The story didn’t possess the natural three act structure Hawke’s tale did, and frankly some details didn’t make a lick of sense, but as a storyteller it was Varric’s job to smooth those issues out and sensationalize the good parts.

There was one good part in particular Varric saved in his back pocket. He knew it would be one of Sunshine’s favorites in the entire saga, and he would not waste it on a less than perfect day.

That day arrived on a bright spring morning, when the flowerbeds ensconced within the Hawke’s walled garden bloomed into a tapestry of reds, yellows, and purples. During the Kirkwall riots the garden had grown wild and choked with weeds, but a couple green-thumbed elves on Varric’s payroll pruned the space into submission, allowing the Hawke family to finally enjoy their own patch of nature. While gardens weren’t his thing (bugs, leaves, grass— _gross_ ), Varric found this one tolerable with the right company.

Varric arrived through the garden gate and found the entire Hawke household—mother, child, and oversized dog—lounging upon a woven blanket on the grass. The mabari flicked an ear in his direction to mark his approach. Alys lay on her stomach right in front of her mother, pushing against the soft ground to hold her torso aloft. The baby couldn’t even lift up her own head when Varric first met her. Now she sat on the razor-thin cusp of crawling.

Sunshine glowed in the enchanting morning light. Her ebony hair looked freshly washed, her striking eyes were lined with kohl, and she wore a form-fitting sapphire gown that looked new. A plump bumblebee hovered between nearby flower bulbs. A lark somewhere trilled a happy song. The garden was a perfect scene of serenity, with Bethany at its beautiful center, relaxed and content.

Looking at all this, Varric felt a strange sense of displacement. Like the wiley, city-dwelling dwarf entering from stage right was barging into someone else’s story—one he did not belong in. He quickly glanced around the garden and over his shoulder just in case a dashing knight with an armful of roses appeared to complete this portrait of idyllic family life, and seeing none, he finally pressed onwards.

“Dressed up for anybody in particular?” Varric asked.

When Bethany looked up at him, her dark eyes caught the sun and lit up like jewels. “Only for my shortest gentleman caller,” she replied playfully.

Varric chuckled. “Warn me when he gets here. I’ll make myself scarce.” He settled on the ground beside her, grunting a little as his knees protested. “Looking radiant today, Sunshine.”

“You have Alys to thank for that. She actually slept through the night.” Bethany sighed and briefly closed her eyes, a soft breeze rustling her hair. “I just want to feel like myself again. Put together. _Normal._ Today’s the closest I’ve gotten in a long time.” She looked fondly towards the baby, who had given up on crawling and rolled onto her back to scowl at the sky like she held a grudge against the clouds.

“You’ll get there,” Varric said. “You’ve made enormous strides already. Don’t see the rush, though.” He offered Bethany a lop-sided smile. “You’re incredible just as you are.”

Their eyes locked, and their surroundings shrank until the garden contained all of Thedas and Bethany, Varric, and Alys were the only people in the entire world. Bethany smiled like she couldn’t contain herself. His pulse picked up speed. Sunshine looked so beautiful today, so content, yet also incredibly curious. _Searching._ What did she search for in his expression? What could Varric do to help her find it? Something inside him tugged him forward. Whatever she needed, he wanted to give it to her.

Alys squealed for attention. The spell between them broke. With an awkward laugh, Bethany lifted up her daughter and settled her in her lap, her cheeks still rosey and warm. Varric coughed into his fist to clear his throat. There was something he meant to do. Oh yeah, the story.

“Sunshine, help me jog my memory,” Varric began. “Have I covered the romance subplot yet?”

“The what?” Bethany asked, their earlier moment now forgotten.

“The romance between Adaar and Ruffles? Eh, you probably don’t want to hear about that boring lovey dovey stuff. Forget I mentioned it.”

As he expected, Bethany gave him a soft, yet rather insistent whack on the arm. “ _Of course_ I want to hear about it!”

And so Varric spent the rest of the morning describing the great romance of Skyhold—Adaar, the unsure Inquisitor thrust into a position of power she never asked for, and Josephine Montilyet, ruffley diplomat groomed from youth to change the world with a carefully placed piece of gossip. He wove the tale with the lurid ambiance of the Winter Palace, the gleaming boulevards of Val Royeux, and finally, the glint of a pistol pointed at the hero. A duel for love, to the death!

Except Adaar’s love had burned so brightly that her rival laid down his weapons, for even an Antivan lord would never stand in the way of true love.

Usually, syrupy romances like this one sounded contrived when Varric told them, but today was different. He had the perfect audience for sickly sweet chivalry, he told it on the perfect day, and for some reason, he possessed the perfect mood to relay every sappy detail with the fullest emotion and grandeur he could muster.

When he had finished, Bethany wore a misty, faraway expression. She sniffed, and Varric reached out to rub light circles between her shoulder blades. He’d take her in his arms if he thought it would soothe the scars he couldn’t see. If it could right the wrongs of the past.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve believed in fairy tales,” Bethany said, her muscles relaxing beneath his touch. “I’m glad one came true for someone, somewhere.”

“Huh.” Varric glanced up at the sky as he calculated how best to phrase his next comment. “Can’t think of many people who would feel so charitable after what you’ve been through.”

“Well I _did_ sleep last night. On days like this, truly _good_ days, I can’t help believing in romance a little, despite everything. Besides,” she fixed her eyes on him again, “wouldn't it be amazing if we were proven wrong?”

How did that ‘ _we_ ’ sneak in there? Either Sunshine was remarkably perceptive, or Hawke opened his big mouth and spilled the details about Bianca and Valammar—a chapter that Varric had intentionally left out his Inquisition retelling. Weirdly, he didn’t care to deflect or deny what Bethany may or may not have recognized in him, nor did he want to shoot down her idea with speed and force rivaling a crossbow’s bolt.

Sunshine was right. It was too damn nice out to quibble over something he didn’t hate that much anyway.

“The triumph of hope over experience,” Varric mused. “Interesting idea.”

* * *

Of course, it wasn’t all peaceful picnics and romance among the blossoming flower bulbs.

Alys more than lived up to her tempestuous nickname, often crying red-faced through the night, clenching her fists like something pained her despite the fact that she was perfectly healthy. She could go days as the happiest baby alive, but then out of nowhere the clouds would roll in, an ear-shattering scream would crack open the sky, and a deluge of tears would fall nonstop.

Bethany never asked for help; her Hawke pride and hard-won independence would never allow it. According to her, this was just something some babies did, and there was nothing parents could do but console their child and wait for them to grow accustomed to the shock of living.

“It’s hard being a baby,” Bethany told Varric once, her voice dull and sluggish from sacrificing another night to Alys’ turbulent moods. “Everything is so new.”

“I get it. New things freak me out, too,” Varric replied.

“You’re supposed to grow out of that.”

“Yeah, the crying. Looking around and feeling completely overwhelmed by the world, its endless possibilities, the risks, the pain. Does anyone ever really grow out of that?”

Bethany just stared at him with a silent, dead-eyed look that could curdle a darkspawn’s blood and plunge the Black City in neverending winter. Varric wisely quit being clever and started being helpful instead.

He adopted a new habit of taking midnight stroll through Hightown with an ear out for colicky baby sounds. If Varric heard one of Bethany’s bad days in the making, he’d drop in and make himself of use, whether that was giving his strung out friend a break or lending an understanding ear. He generally stayed up all night writing anyway, so what did it matter if he spent his late nights at the Hawke house?

Fortunately, as Kirkwall’s misty spring gave way to summer, Bethany’s good days began to outnumber her bad ones. Once Alys learned to crawl, she became far too preoccupied with exploring the world and putting stay objects in her mouth to cry. And as she grew more active, she began sleeping for longer stretches of time more regularly. And as the baby slipped into a regular sleep schedule, her mother’s mood improved.

And as Bethany’s mood improved, she began to behave...differently.

One evening as Varric played with Alys in his lap, he felt the softest brush against his shoulder. Bethany circled around the back of his chair, lightly tracing her fingertips from shoulder blade to shoulder blade as she went, catching the ends of his hair where they rested against the nape of his neck. Time unspooled before him at a quarter speed, the tantalizing pressure from her fingertips sending a ripple of elation over Varric so intense he almost couldn’t stand it. He forgot to breathe, to think. All he could focus on was the silk fabric of his shirt sliding against his skin under her touch and how desperately he wished there was no fabric there at all.

When Bethany let go and knelt down to become eye level with the baby, the experience felt like it had ended far too soon. He watched her speak to Alys in a daze.

“I hate to interrupt, but it’s time for bed.” Bethany lifted the baby up and moved to spirit her away to her bedroom, pausing to briefly glance over her shoulder. “Varric, won’t _you_ come to bed, too?”

Varric blinked and rose from his chair. “You’ve got your hands full already. Take care, Sunshine. Fingers crossed Stormy sleeps like a rock.”

Next he knew it, Varric was out in the Kirkwall’s brisk air, shivering from a chill that had nothing to do with cold.

Hardly the raunchiest come-on Varric had ever received, especially compared to the stuff that flew out of Hawke’s mouth back in the day, but between his surprise and the goose pimples still prickling across his skin, he didn’t know what to make of it.

If it had been any other woman feeling him up, batting her eyelashes, and making open-ended invitations involving bedtime, Varric would have a pretty accurate idea of where they stood and what she wanted of him. Since it was Sunshine, the situation didn’t feel so clear cut. They had always flirted without crossing any real boundaries. Maybe whatever happened back there was another flirty joke between friends, and Varric’s mind swam too deep in the gutter to read it right.

Besides, behind the playful banter lay a nagging sense that Varric was trespassing. That he was a stand-in or understudy filling a role that wouldn’t remain empty forever. How long he had to enjoy this intimate friendship before reality set in, he couldn’t know.

What Varric did know was that as long as he genuinely helped Bethany and her little drop of sunlight, temporary or no, it was more than enough.

* * *

Amidst so much change, Varric found comfort in the fact that after nearly two years away from Kirkwall, his life had remained steadfastly the same.

He still spun stories based on life but never on fact. He still balanced the Tethras family business with running an informal spy network. He even still lived at the Hanged Man, though the tavern had more holes in the ceiling than he remembered. The main difference was that Hawke and their friends weren’t there to share a drink or drag him into nightly hijinks. Varric chose not to dwell on that point too much.

Thedas changed, Kirkwall changed, and even Hawke changed, but Varric Tethras? He was still the same wise-cracking, roguish storyteller he always had been, and nothing would ever push him off the comfortable course he had charted for himself.

Or so he believed.

“Is it true, then? You’re moving to Hightown? You only just got back.”

When Varric set down his tankard of ale and wiped the foam from his lip, he saw Corff, the long-time proprietor of the Hanged Man, looming over him with a dire look on his face.

Varric blinked. “Moving?”

“Moving in with your woman and her little girl,” Corff said.

What the— _oh._ “We’ve gone over this, I’m only leaving this place in an urn.”

“You mean they’re moving _here_?!” Corff pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Look, I’ll put up with a lot for a good tenant, but I draw the line at kids. This isn’t the establishment for them.”

Varric rolled his eyes and rested his forearm upon the bar. He lowered his voice but didn’t whisper, because he wanted to appear unfazed to every barfly who might be watching.

“Relax,” he said, “nobody’s moving. You need a better grapevine buddy, because the one you’re listening to is rotten to the core with lies.”

Corff huffed, “So are you.”

“Not about this. Dwarf’s honor.”

“Then you haven’t been buying little socks and sundry at the market three times a week?”

Varric’s ears burned deep scarlet. He felt a dozen eyes on him, all waiting in rapt anticipation for everyone’s favorite dwarf to deliver a cocky comeback they could later recount to their friends. This was the downside of being a well-liked, fascinating, and handsome man of influence—people ran their mouths about his comings and goings. It took more effort than Varric liked to speak over the thundering within his ribs.

“The only coin of mine that’s your concern is what I pay for my bed and beer,” Varric said. “Stick to gossiping about the King of Ferelden and quit worrying. I’m not going anywhere.”

“ _No kids!_ ” Corff repeated once more before throwing down his dish towel and retreating into a backroom.

Varric pounded back the rest of his ale and quickly exited the Hanged Man before anyone else probed him with nosey questions.

He staggered through Lowtown, his thoughts a whirring torrent. Andraste’s flaming farts! Varric could be accused of a laundry list of offenses, but shacking up with his best friend’s sister? Moving out of the Hanged Man? _Adopting a kid?!_

Sure, Varric spent a lot of time with Bethany and Alys. Yeah, he spent a lot of money on them, too. And fine, he carried a tender fondness for Sunshine that made him personally invested in her happiness, a fondness that deepened the more time they spent together. She was a beautiful, wonderful person. She deserved the best. Varric couldn’t give her that, but couldn’t he give her something _close_ without a meddling bartender crawling up his ass about it? Or reading into things that were innocent and, above all, _private_?

Was it a crime to buy baby socks all of sudden? Did Kirkwall outlaw gifts while Varric was busy fighting demons?!

Corff’s words and their lurid implications came roaring back—’ _your woman and her little girl_.’ Varric shrank from the thought, yet he could not let it go. Bethany wasn’t his ‘woman,’ but she might be his...something.

That tender moment in the garden, when Varric wanted—or the other evening when he felt so sure she wanted _—_ but no, she couldn’t have. Bethany had a type. Princes, knights, dashing guys with shiny teeth. Cut and dry incompatibility, nothing else to say about it. This whole ridiculous thought exercise originated from Corff’s ale-addled brain anyway, so there was little point to giving it any more serious consideration.

Sunshine was—

Bethany Hawke was just so—

All language left him. And that spooked Varric most of all.

He picked up his pace as he fixated on the other thing Corff had implied. The thing about bringing a baby to live in the Hanged Man as if she was his own. Varric barked a harsh laugh right there in the street. Preposterous! Who of sound mind would look at Varric and think he could be anyone’s _father?_ He hadn’t fathered anybody his whole life, in any sense of the word, not even close (he decided Cole didn’t count, being a spirit and everything). There was no one in Thedas more unsuitable for the task. Everyone knew that!

Shit, Varric couldn’t even remember his own father. All he knew was that Andvar Tethras had gambled his way into exile, dragged the whole family with him, and then died without redemption. If _that_ was how fatherhood went in his bloodline...

Anyways, the only reason the baby knew Varric from any other random Kirkwaller was because he visited everyday. Changed diapers, played games, read books. Carried and held her. Responded to Alys’ frequent baby babbles like he understood them. Those were father-like activities, but not father _ly_. Right?!

What he got up to with the baby didn’t matter, Varric decided as he sped around a tight street corner, because Alys had plenty of father figures already—Hawke and Carver! Actual blood relatives! They just...hadn’t been in town for most of her life. Once the Hawke boys came home, everything would fall into place. They’d take over the fatherhood stuff, Alys would forget they were ever gone, and Varric could go back to the easy existence of an unattached bachelor.

A bachelor whose only heart he could break and only life he could ruin were his own.

Varric stopped in the street, chest heaving from his frantic rush through the city. It was only after catching his breath that he looked, actually _looked,_ at where he had arrived.

The Hawke estate, right between the grand stone columns adorned with ivy.

_Drip, drip, drip._

He took a faltering step backward. Shit, of all the places—! Blindly wandering to Bethany’s front door as if he lived there!

The sharp bark of a mabari resounded behind the mansion’s thick oak door. Varric scrambled out of sight and away from the estate before anyone—dogs, women, babies, _anybody_ —saw him lingering where he shouldn’t be. Where he _couldn’t_ be.


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a brief panic, Varric stops denying the new future he's fallen for.

Varric avoided Hightown for several days, but not without first sending a note explaining his absence to the Hawke estate.

> _Sunshine,_
> 
> _My publisher’s bothering me about a deadline, so I’m heads down writing my book. Send word or visit me at the Hanged Man if you need anything in the meantime._
> 
> _-Varric_

Short, to the point, reasonable. A solid lie.

Varric did try to write, but whenever his thoughts strayed back to Bethany’s shining eyes or Alys’ delightful laugh, they also returned to the doubts and fears gathering in his head, sending his mood into a spiral of self-loathing and uncertainty that didn’t do his creativity any favors. Instead, he made social calls to other friends, spent some time prowling Darktown for potential public works projects, and answered letters. Boring stuff, mostly.

He just needed time to think, to tug at the tangled threads of Sunshine, family, and his own battered heart and see what unraveled and what stayed whole.

However, when Varric wrote that Bethany could visit him at the Hanged Man, he didn’t believe she would actually do it. More to the point, he never considered that Alys might come with her.

“ _Varric!_ Hi!”

Varric, holding court with a cluster of Wicked Grace players, nearly dropped his cards mid-shuffle. He swivelled in his seat just in time for Bethany to stoop down and draw him into a one-armed hug, careful not to crowd the baby between their chests. Varric didn’t know what to say. Despite avoiding Bethany specifically to sort out his feelings for her, he had wasted his time doing everything _but._ Now that she was here, what was he going to do?

When they broke apart, Bethany kissed his cheek, glowing a little as she pulled away. His heart downright hiccuped, and every suave or clever line in his quiver turned to smoke.

“We’ve been missing you lately and I just thought—why not visit you for a change?” Bethany said. “I hope we caught you when you weren’t too busy.”

“I was just—” Varric turned back to his Wicked Grace buddies, only to find all of them noisily rising from their seats and grabbing their beers to retreat to other tables. Assholes. “—telling my friends to get lost. Great timing.”

Bethany watched them go with knitted brows, her high spirits briefly dimmed. Meanwhile, Corff watched them from behind the bar, and other tavern patrons began to cast curious eyes their way. Being seen crossing Kirkwall to visit the Hawke estate was one thing, but her coming to him? _Bringing the baby?_

Varric gathered his cards and quickly stood. “How about we head up to the palatial suite? Have ourselves a private party,” he said. Bethany arched an eyebrow and agreed.

Next thing Varric knew, he was playing another hand of Wicked Grace, this time on the floor of his private chambers with Sunshine while Alys sat in her lap. Safe in his rooms, he finally calmed. No scum-of-the-earth types scrutinizing his affairs. No landlord asking personal questions he didn’t know the answer to. No fear that he was too invested in a one-sided connection fueled by proximity.

The nuisances downstairs soon faded from his memory as Varric focused on Bethany. Wicked Grace had very little to do with the cards one was dealt. The real game lay in watching his opponent’s face, studying the twitching of her delicate brows and the involuntary nibbling on her bottom lip, and decoding what these adorable tells could mean. She watched in turn through half-lidded eyes, her gaze often lingering upon his chest hair before scrutinizing the back of his cards.

When Varric held Alys for a turn, he brazenly tipped his cards towards the baby.

“See Stormy, two angels, three knights. Know what that means? Hmmm?” The baby babbled in his ear, and Varric nodded as if she said something witty. “That’s right—I’m about to take your mother for every coin she’s worth.”

“I can’t believe you’d cheerily fleece a lady with a baby,” Bethany said, folding her hand with a pout.

“Believe it, Sunshine. I’m as big a bastard as they come when it comes to Wicked Grace, and with plenty of cheer to spare.”

Varric finally revealed his hand with a single sweeping gesture—none of his cards matched. Not even a single suit. He grinned like he had won the world, and in a way, he truly had. Roaring fire in the hearth, a winning streak of Wicked Grace, the best company he could ask for. It only got better when Bethany gaped at his cards, her face caught between a dropped jaw and a wide smile.

“Oh, I _loathe_ you,” she said.

His grin grew. “Sure you do. Another round? Throw in your firstborn and I’ll double the pot.”

“There are easier ways to acquire a child than winning one in a card game.”

“Depends on who you’re playing.”

Bethany stared at him, eyes darting up and down his features. She tilted her head slightly to one side, and without thinking he did the same. If either of them leaned forward, just a little closer, they would fit together perfectly.

“Does it?” Bethany asked, lips parted as if she were holding her breath.

They played another round of Wicked Grace, pleasant tension thickening in the air. Varric actually lost; between the wiggly baby trying to crawl across the cards, Bethany’s fascinating expressions, and desire thrumming to life within him, he struggled to pay proper attention to the game.

After he began to reshuffle the deck, Bethany said, “It’s surreal visiting the Hanged Man again. So much is the same, but it feels so different.” She fiddled with the ends of her silky hair. “Do you think we could go back downstairs for dinner and a drink soon?”

Varric finished cutting the cards and set them down. “I’ll ask one of the barmaids to bring something up for you,” he said.

“I’d actually like to sit in the taproom like old times.”

“I’d like that too, but…” He thought of a dozen deflections before settling upon, “Stormy would lose it down there. All those people, the noise. Is that good for her?”

“I know what’s good for my baby.”

Silence descended upon the room, save for the minute rustling of Alys pushing over the deck and smearing cards across the floor. Bethany’s deep brown eyes became watery and scalding hot at the same time. After an entire evening of reading her tells, Varric understood instantly that she was piecing several seemingly insignificant details together, and she didn’t like the picture they made.

“We barely said hello before you whisked me up here. I thought you wanted to spend time together, in private. I truly thought...” Bethany looked around the vast, empty room as if she truly saw it for the first time and found betrayal in every corner. She haltingly rose, her lip trembling once before her confusion smoldered into fury. “...but I see now. Kirkwall’s most famous bachelor is just too embarrassed to be _seen_ with me.”

Varric bolted to his feet. “That’s not true. Sunshine, please—” His pleading fell upon deaf ears.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be out of your way soon.” Bethany collected Alys and tried to secure the baby against her torso with a cloth wrap, growing red-faced and teary when the baby squeezed her eyes shut and began to cry. “Maker’s Breath, I know with the baby I’m not exactly a convenient friend, but just _tell me_ if I’m imposing. Instead of humoring me all evening where no one can see.”

She moved stiffly towards the door. This whole situation had unraveled so quickly, Varric didn’t know what words could possibly fix it. But he’d be a shit friend—well, an even _shittier_ friend—if he didn’t at least try.

“I wasn’t humoring you, I was having a good time!” Varric exclaimed, trailing behind Bethany as she headed towards the door. “All I want is to help—”

Bethany whipped around to face him. _“You’ve pitied me all along, haven’t you?”_

With that, she hurried out of the door and slammed it shut behind her, Alys’ cries echoing down the stairwell in her flight.

Varric regarded the cards strewn across the floor, the ruins of a wonderful night with a beautiful woman gone awry, and sighed. “Shit.”

* * *

Varric wrote several letters to explain himself.

He wrote that his family bone had been broken since before he was born. He wrote that Bethany and Alys had given him a tantalizing taste of a life his rocky childhood and romantic history had taught him could never be his. He wrote that ruining everything so spectacularly without even trying was surely evidence that he wasn’t cut out for any long-term relationship that didn’t involve dragons or booze. No one had chosen Varric before, consciously and unreservedly _chosen_ him, and it wasn’t because he was too good or worth too much. It was a truth he had masked so successfully that even _he_ forgot it sometimes.

Every letter wound up in the fire. Too much self-pity, not enough penance.

Two days after the Wicked Grace incident, Varric emerged from the Viscount’s Keep and met a dour grey sky. A sinister rumble rolled through dark clouds. Kirkwall’s first summertime storm, waiting to burst.

Varric hastened through Hightown, but came to a fast halt when he spotted Bethany coming from the market, empty-handed save for Alys. A shopping trip cut short by the doom quickly gathering in the clouds.

Happiness swelled within him at the mere sight of them. Maker, he had missed them. Bethany, achingly lovely with more steel in her than anyone gave her credit for, and Alys, a spitfire of a girl that won him over with a pout. Varric missed being a part of their world, feeling like he had made that world better. Defining what they had frightened him—if there was territory Varric had yet to chart, Andraste’s ass this was it—but he understood now that he couldn’t let the tragedies of experience triumph over hope. Not this time.

“Sunshine!” Varric called out.

Bethany stopped in the street and turned towards his voice. He jogged over to her, anxious that she might just walk away if he didn’t act fast enough. When he finally got there, he breathlessly spoke over his own pounding heart.

“I’m glad I caught you,” he said. “Sunshine, I want you to know—”

“Varric, I’m sorry,” Bethany blurted.

“I— _you’re_ sorry?”

She nodded emphatically. “I’m so embarrassed. Showing up without warning, then rushing out again.” Bethany swallowed and glanced at Alys, snug against her torso in a cloth wrap. “Please understand, I’ve spent so long learning to be proud of who I am. I thought you were ashamed of me and I just...reacted.”

Varric already knew he was lower than nug shit for his behavior the night before, but hearing it from Bethany’s mouth twisted his stomach into knots.

“Everyone has exposed nerves that sting when pressed. I was so fixated my own bullshit, I didn’t consider yours. I’m sorry.” Varric swallowed. He had nothing pretty or witty prepared, but that didn’t matter. “Bethany, the truth is—”

A crack of thunder cut him off. Varric glanced up and a fat raindrop splashed on his forehead. He quickly wiped his face, cursing as the drizzling quickened and dark splotches spread across the cobblestone street. They would soon be caught in a downpour—including little Alys.

Varric immediately shrugged off his duster and handed it to Bethany. With Alys tucked against her chest, Bethany pulled his coat collar over her head to fashion a makeshift canopy.

The grey sky opened its arms. Water rained down in thick sheets, a fierce rushing swarmed his senses, and the nauseating wet sent a shock of adrenaline through him. Squinting to see through the pelting rain, Varric took Bethany’s hand and pulled her forward. Together, they hurried down the street to the Hawke estate’s door.

Once safe inside, Bethany threw his drenched coat aside and fretted over the baby. Alys made it home mostly dry, albeit a little cranky from the experience.

Varric could relate. Stinking of petrichor, he shivered in the doorway, his entire body dripping rainwater upon the stone floor. His red shirt, soaked to the skin, clung to every favor the Maker had ever given him. Hawke’s mabari lapped up the puddle growing beneath Varric’s feet with its massive tongue. At least _someone_ found a silver lining in his wet, clammy misery.

Having calmed Alys, Bethany returned her attention to Varric.

“Varric, you should take off those…” She touched a faltering fingertip to his wet skin, just above the chest hair, only to sharply snatch it away. “G-go upstairs and find something to wear in my brother’s room,” she said, coloring from her cheeks down into her neckline. “You can dry your own clothes by the fireplace.”

Bethany carried Alys up to her room for bed. Varric ascended the stairs behind her, his boots squelching horribly with every step.

When Varric returned to the lower floor, he wore the selfsame robe Hawke donned for his Hightown outings. Didn’t really fit right, but it framed his chest hair nicely. Still feeling like a half-drowned nug, Varric took every small dose of self-assurance he could get. He laid out his sopping wet clothes by the fireplace to dry, then examined his surroundings.

Though he had only been away from the Hawke mansion for a week, the place looked different. The hearth blazed bright and warm. Beautiful flowers and ferns flourished in their pots. Where there once lingered dust and cold shadows, Varric now saw well-loved toys and light. Even as the storm beat steadily against the windows, strong and clear glass shut the chaos out. All of these details added up to a single bittersweet realization: Bethany did not need him, not like she used to.

A strange numbness settled in his stomach, slowly branching out in smokey tendrils that filled his lungs until he couldn’t breathe. Change was in the air, and Varric felt in his core that the most precious people in the world to him would soon slip away.

Bethany soon found Varric in the parlor, twiddling his thumbs on a trim loveseat. She had changed as well into a gossamer dressing gown, cinched around her supple waist with a wide ribbon. Delicate and ethereal, a picture of beauty Varric would expect to find in someone else’s book. Shit, everything about this scene belonged in someone else’s book.

“Alys went down easy tonight,” Bethany said, settling down beside him. “I think she hates rain, but likes the thunder.”

“I called that on day one,” Varric said, smiling at the memory of seeing Alys’ grouchy face for the first time. His smile dropped away as his thoughts drifted back into melancholy.

Bethany lifted her hand and beckoned towards the hearth. The flames answered her command and burned brighter, sending soft streaks of light dancing across the darkened room. They enjoyed the fire’s warmth together in comfortable silence. Varric’s eyes followed the shadows flickering across the floor, against the wall, and then finally upon the slope of Bethany’s neck and up into her gemstone eyes. His breathing slowed as he tried to commit this moment, the quiet intimacy and comfort and latent desire, to memory before it vanished into the past.

“So, where did we leave off with the Inquisition?” Bethany asked. “I think you just drank from a magic well and tamed a dragon?”

“Hmph, _I_ did no such thing. But you’re right, we’re at the final showdown.”

The story that brought them together was one battle scene away from being over. When Varric ran out of adventures to share, he’d have even less reason to see Bethany and Alys. He’d taken this whole arrangement for granted, treading water while stupidly assuming the calm would last forever. Nothing ever lasted. Then again, coming here had never really been about workshopping his book or doing a favor for his absent best friend. After their last heart-to-heart, cut short by a sudden storm, Varric wouldn’t waste time and opportunity pretending otherwise.

“Sunshine, how about I tell you what’s _not_ going into the book,” Varric began, shifting closer to her. “While everyone else was raring to kick ass and save the world, I just wanted it to be over. To skip the big battle and go straight to the cozy epilogue where I’m sitting in the Hanged Man, living my old life as if I never left. But when I finally made it home—”

“I got in your way,” Bethany said, smiling through the sad note in her voice. She held up a hand to stop Varric from interrupting. “Please, it’s the truth. I’ve relied on you far more than I should have. It’s not fair to distract you with my problems.”

“If by ‘problems’ you mean the cutest baby alive, then by all means distract me.”

Bethany stared down at her hands. A thick lock of her ink black hair fell forward, obscuring her expression as she shook her head.

“You always do this,” she said. “Gone out of your way to make me feel better. I know I should apologize for taking advantage of your kindness, but I don’t feel sorry. I won’t hide or apologize for who I am—or for what I feel.”

Varric’s breath caught. His heart throbbed like a thunder clap. Bethany lifted her chin to face him head on, her eyes shined with passion as easy to read as a hand of cards. She took his hands and held them tightly, trembling from the force of her own emotion bubbling to the surface.

“I’ve grown to love you _so much_ and I just—! I can’t bear for you to go!”

Hearing her own feelings expressed plainly, the words Varric had been searching for all this time sprang into existence. He wanted to tell her that the life he fought for during the Inquisition stopped being the life he wanted. That the luster of eternal bachelorhood dulled once Varric experienced something new. That she—Bethany Hawke, the smiling epitome of everything he wasn’t—had completely flipped the paradigm, and in slowly falling for her, Varric’s life’s course settled in a new direction.

But just as quickly his elation swelled to a fever pitch, doubt wormed in. Varric had already written so many letters about why this could be a colossal mistake, and burning them didn’t destroy their truth. Reckless confessions didn’t help him the last time he fell in love, either.

“Sunshine, is this wise? I’m not, you know. Father material.” Varric shot her a libertine’s crooked smile. “I’m the guy your father warned you about.”

“Do you think I would’ve let you around _my_ daughter if I believed that?”

They edged closer, drawn together in a tide they struggled to resist. Varric threaded a piece of Bethany’s hair behind her ear and then kept his hand there to cup her face. The familiar scent of mountain laurels invited him ever closer. They were teetering on the brink, a hair’s breadth away from plunging into each other, equal parts exhilaration and nerves. If they crossed this threshold, there would be no going backwards. Nothing between them would ever be the same.

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something so badly and yet felt so scared to go for it,” Varric said. He didn’t know where to focus—her parted lips, her neck, her eyes. Everything pulled him in.

“I understand,” Bethany said in a soft whisper. “I’ve always felt afraid to chase what I wanted.”

“Does that stop you?”

Her lips pulled into a coy smirk. “Not anymore.”

After an agonizing heartbeat, Varric pitched forward and kissed her. With a happy gasp, Bethany closed her eyes and learned into his kiss, opening her mouth to accept his as deeply as possible. No more boundaries, no more hesitation, they blindly clambered into each other, kissing and touching and diving headfirst into everything they had believed was barred to them, Varric’s regrets and fears were mere specks on the surface.

When they eventually came up for air, Varric rested his forehead against Bethany’s and grazed his thumb across her cheek.

“I’m not going anywhere, Sunshine,” he said. “Couldn't even if I tried.”

Varric stayed long after the rain subsided, and daybreak penetrated the dark clouds until there was nothing left but a clear blue sky.

* * *

Though they planned to take their relationship slowly, the world didn’t wait up.

Alys learned to walk. They had barely celebrated this development when she started running like her tiny feet were on fire. Varric knew he wasn’t as spry as he used to be, but chasing after the toddler made him feel like his joints were gummed up with thick syrup. Sunshine easily kept up with her beloved little demon, often teasing him mercilessly for being too slow to catch a child with legs even shorter than his own. If Varric didn’t know better, he’d think these vexatious Hawkes were conspiring against him.

Bethany’s brothers returned to the nest for a much needed family reunion. Their once private sanctum suddenly had a new full-time resident, as well as two or three staff Hawke immediately hired to handle the housework. A little different, sharing Bethany and Alys with all these interlopers, but even Varric couldn’t deny that the Hawkes thrived in a larger family.

Carver couldn’t leave the Grey Wardens for long, so he monopolized his sister and niece’s attention for several days. That left Varric free to shoot the shit with Hawke at the Hanged Man, just like in the old days.

Hawke had much to say about Varric’s efforts rebuilding Kirkwall and accused him of becoming a ‘do-gooder.’ Varric retorted that there was always a tidy profit at the center of his philanthropy. The only ‘good’ he was guilty of was being good in bed.

“Just ask your sister.”

Hawke laughed before growing more pensive.

“I’m not used to Kirkwall improving in my absence,” he said. “Or my sister growing happier. Nice change of pace.”

“Yeah,” Varric agreed with a twinge of sentimentality. “It really is.”

Varric eventually vacated his suite in the Hanged Man, though not inside a jewel-encrusted urn like he always imagined. More surprisingly, he didn’t move into the Hawke estate either. After a whirlwind election and hurried coronation, Varric took up residence in the Keep as the actual flipping Viscount of Kirkwall. Talk about a plot twist.

His ass had barely warmed his brand new throne when the Chantry summoned him to Orlais for his own little reunion with Adaar and the Inquisition. Fun time, before they went tumbling through mirrors and trauma. The title of Varric’s retelling of the Inquisition—All This Shit is Weird—grew more apt by the day.

Meanwhile, Bethany slowly migrated her and Alys’ things to the Keep. They spent enough time there with Varric that it just made sense to have a set of their belongings available in the castle instead going back and forth from the Hawke Estate. At some point during Varric’s torturous stay in Orlais, they decided to just stay.

When he found Bethany waiting in his chambers upon his return, Varric did not question it. Seeing her in his bed, lounging like she had always belonged there, there was nothing more to say. He wordlessly crawled under the covers and buried his face in her neck.

This was what home felt like. This was what love felt like. And Varric was never letting it go.

* * *

Varric’s new normal was pretty damn good.

One sunny morning, he sat on a patch of grass in the Keep’s vast garden, keeping watch while his little girl and her enormous Mabari dug up one of the castle’s pristine flowerbeds. Picking flowers became a dirty job when Alys Hawke was involved.

He spotted Bethany emerging from the Keep’s side door. She had felt too nauseous to get out of bed that morning, but judging by her luminous glow and bright smile, Varric figured she must now feel right as rain. Well, as right as gross rain could be.

“We need to talk, when you have a moment,” Bethany said. She acted strangely coquettish, pursing her lips to hide a smile like she had a delicious secret. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

“Yeah?” Varric rose to his feet, groaning a little when one of his knees cracked. “Let me grab Alys and we’ll be right in.”

Bethany could hold back her grin no longer. “Alright. Don’t be too long you two.” She bent down to give him a long kiss before heading inside, a happy spring in her step.

Weird.

Varric made good on his word and got to work corralling the kid. Alys was far from the tiny baby he met years ago. She talked, she walked, she chose her own clothes. Today, she wore two different kinds of shoes and a bold Wintersend dress. Her mother tried to persuade her to dress more appropriately for summer, but Stormy refused to hear constructive criticism; she and Varric had that in common.

“Okay Alys, time to head in. Your mother’s feeling better, and we need to wash your hands before we see her.”

Unpressed by the dirt caked to her palms, Alys tugged on his pant leg and raised her arms to be picked up.

“Who? _Me_? You sure?” Varric asked with feigned surprise. “Don’t you know who I am to you, Stormy?”

The child reached for him again, because she knew exactly who he was.

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for the wonderful art above goes to [Negativesd09](https://negativesd09.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> I want to thank all the readers who have made it to the end of this fic. This story started as a casual prompt fill, but it became something of an emotional support fic as my life went sideways and I fell into a creative black hole. Even when I felt at my lowest as a writer, I could scroll through my draft, tweak a couple words, and feel like maybe my writing wasn't as bad as I thought. I won't claim this is the greatest fic out there or even the greatest I've ever written, but goddamnit it's 2020 and I finally fucking finished it, and that makes it special. 
> 
> Thank you again for taking a moment to read :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Princesses of Kirkwall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26198497) by [LadyNorbert](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNorbert/pseuds/LadyNorbert)




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